You would think it would be easier. After all, there have been lots of opportunity to practice saying good-bye to Youngest Daughter over the last few years. She went off to Europe, then to Thailand, then to Guatemala, then to Uganda, and in between all of those escapades, there have been trips and trips and trips — to college and to visit friends and to see brothers and to go to conferences and weddings and such.
She came home last Sunday afternoon. For some reason, she seemed inordinately glad to be home, and she meandered in and out of the house, washing dishes, loading and unloading the dishwasher, cleaning up the messes that were usually left for “later” and organizing what she didn’t know what to do with in little stacks of orderliness. She spent a day helping me with preparing for the upcoming tax filing, and filled the days with studying, coffee runs to Dolce’s, being Auntie to Charis, and just filling our lives with presence.
But Saturday morning, she packed up her bags and headed out. Overnight with Lem and Jess and then back to Ohio.
And this time it was harder again. I have never liked to say goodbye to any of my children, but with all this experience it would seem like it should get easier.
Oddly enough, it still feels hard. And today I feel sad and empty. I’d like to just sleep. But it’s a beautiful day, and a great day for washing sheets from the beds, catching up on laundry and doing all sorts of busy work while my thoughts tumble over each other in a strange, odd mix of ponderings.